


Love of Tomorrow

by Filigranka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Minerva, Horace and the Hogwarts they try torevolutioniserebuild.





	Love of Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



> Million thanks for Irusu for beta!

Rebuilding Hogwarts was a hard task, but it seemed doable. Just a little pulling of strings to skip official procedures, a stern look or two—maybe with the addition of some spectacular, almost non-threatening transmutation spells—to make builders sent by the Ministry work fast and efficiently. Nothing Minerva couldn’t manage.

What seemed impossible, was the rebuilding of the trust between the students. All four Houses closed themselves off from the others, full of despise and suspiciousness of the Death Eaters and “cowards”; those who had flew away the battle of Hogwarts. But while Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were able to at least be civil, occasionally even helpful to each other, the divide between all of them and Slytherin was much wider. Usually they just ignored Slytherin’s students and Slytherins ignored all others in return—but sometimes the typical students’pranks escalated to the point of real, dangerous violence. Threats, branding, cruel, harmful spells cast even by and on the youngest students. The sad year of Carrow’s rule had taught the kids all too well, and while they all swore that they didn’t want to use dark spells ever again, there wasn’t even a week without an incident involving some dark curse. Sometimes the teachers managed to catch the culprit. Sometimes the wall of silence between the students was impenetrable.

‘They think we don’t understand,’ sighed Minerva, falling into the chair in the Headmistress’ room. Other teachers nodded their heads in agreement. ‘They think our position under Carrow’s was better, safer... that we didn’t make so many hard choices, weren’t hurt so much. They think that’s why we’re so eager to talk about rebuilding, forgetting and forgiveness.’

‘It’s nonsense, of course,’ said Flitwick quickly. ‘I’m sure we all remember well enough how many difficult decisions and restless nights we spent, trying to find a way to protect our students, all of them. But they weren’t with us. The didn’t see it.’

‘They’re just children. We all understand,’ Pomona chimed in. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone here—‘ She shot a glance at the portraits of the old headmasters. Severus, already opening his mouth, closed it again. ‘—anyone teaching here now, who would blame these kids for their reactions, no matter how... unfair and troublesome they are. But we can’t just let it happen, either. We must stop it.’

‘Easier said than done,’ grumped Binns. ‘Children these days! Cannot even focus for a moment, let alone understand history and take lessons from it... Come to think of it, this situation reminds me of the gloomy day after the third revolt of the magical creatures. The same atmosphere of suspicion and ostracism...’

He droned on about some historical details. They were probably interesting and possibly useful, so Minerva tried her best to listen—but it wasn’t an easy task. Binns’ monotonous voice worked like the best sleeping potion, especially after a long, hard day. And all of her days were long and hard, recently. Petty quarrels with the Ministry, overseeing the construction progress, teaching and administration work, playing the mediator in arguments between students and staff members... There were evenings when it all seemed too much for one person. She could, of course, delegate some duties, but delegating meant she still needed to check on them.

Binns finally fell silent. He was looking at others, obviously waiting for comment, and Minerva realised, half-panicked, half-amused, that her thoughts had drifted away in the middle of his little lecture and she hadn’t got any idea how to respond. She felt like a student caught unprepared on an exam. She smiled approvingly, searching her memory for some polite, general sentences, fitting for all occasions—

‘So what you say, professor, is that history always repeats itself and some low instinct seems to be ingrained in the nature of all sentient creatures, humans very much included?’ Horace sounded simultaneously cheerful and sad, but above all: very interested. He even leaned over the table a little, getting close to Binns. ‘While such fatalist view fits a historian well, I think we all agree that what we don’t want is for the sad events of the third revolt or the second Black’s war to repeat. But,’ he added with a wide smile, ‘I’m sure we’re all very grateful for this reminder of what might lie ahead of us if we don’t take some action. Am I right?’

The teachers murmured confirmations. Looking at their relieved faces, Minerva was sure they blanked out on Binns’ speech, too. But the old ghost didn’t seemed to mind; he nodded in Horace’s direction, slowly and regally, apparently content with his answer.

Minerva sent Horace her widest smile. Well, the widest smile she could summon when half-dead from exhaustion.

‘I was wondering about this the whole past year,’ she started, ‘and I think we need some changes. Some deep changes. The reform, I daresay. Last year wasn’t suited for this; all the rebuilding, all the parents whose trust we need to regain, problems with supplies... But now, thanks to all our hard work, our situation, at least the administrative and material one, is much more stable. There’s no need to postpone the rev—‘ she barely caught herself before saying “revolution”, but oh, Merlin, she had waited for this for so long! ‘—the reforms any longer. Unless we want today’s history to end just like the old ones.’

‘‘How could you even suggest it, Minerva?’ Of course we don’t.’ Flitwick levitated the cup of tea to his lap; his fingers clenched on it, like he was trying to warm them. Or stop them from trembling. ‘We’ve seen enough suffering brought by prejudice. And I’m not talking about blank forgiveness—but children are only children. We shouldn’t be blaming them... Although I know it’s hard. In some cases especially.’ He was very carefully not looking at Horace.

Horace pretended he didn’t notice this. ‘Children are children,’ he agreed amiably, easily. ‘And we’re their teachers. We are... responsible for them. They mirror our own mistakes.’ Regret clouded his voice. ‘I’ve enough of mistakes, grievous mistakes, for one life. I want to help others avoid them.’

A murmur of agreement. Minerva decided it was the best time to present her revolutionary idea. They were all softened, now, all thinking about the mistakes of the past, determined to not make them again. The best mood for reforms.

‘So, I think we all agree that things need to change?’ Whispers of confirmation. ‘And we can change them. We can learn from the past and change ourselves. We can change Hogwarts and the future of our students. I’m open to any propositions—I’m sure we all have some ideas already. There’s no idea too radical for us to consider. Remember, we bear the weight of the future wizard history on our shoulders. We mustn’t be afraid!’ she finished, not shying from a little pathos. When the new school year would start, all of the teachers, her including, would need some motivation to warm their hearts during long lessons with dozens of stubborn, unruly teenagers.

She let the others talk then. Just like she had expected, they all had ideas, spanning from very conservative (Argus, as per usual, proposed the return of corporal punishment, so “the brats would know how it hurts”) through the very modern (Poppy wanted to start the obligatory lessons in the medical ward, and some additional hours for those who had hurt others, so they can see how much pain they caused and how hard it was to heal), to the little eccentric ones (Sybil offered to use divination to judge quarrels and decide punishments, according with the course leading to the best future).

‘...We can use your powers to announce one hopeful divination every week or month, Sybil. How would you like that? And yes, Poppy, lessons in first aid are a wonderful idea. We’ll all keep in mind to send students to you more often. As for you, Argus... I’m afraid theat corporal punishments are out of the question.’

‘They would bring unpleasant memories,’ chimed Horace. ‘I’m sure you understand. But we will talk with the students about their behaviour towards you and Mrs Norris.’

‘Yes.’ Minerva assumed an expression that, she hoped, was stern and commanding and yet still warm. She smiled so much today that every time she forced her lips upwards, she could feel her muscles twitching. ‘Of course. Of course.’

‘But surely you have some ideas yourself, Minerva?’ Flitwick must have noticed her exhaustion and tried to bring the meeting to some conclusion.

‘Well, yes. One or two.’ She took a deep breath. Everybody’s eyes fell upon her, along with the silence. ‘I think we should put an end to the House Tournament.’

 

*

 

‘I said it. And they didn’t eat me alive.’ Minerva closed her eyes, took the pins out of her hair and let it fall like a wave on her shoulders, lower, to her shoulder blades, to her waist. Even through her robes, she could feel it—its sudden weight falling along her body, its softness caressing her neck and spine. Such a nice, little pleasure.

‘Why would they?’ She could hear Horace’s voice coming closer. ‘They were in a revolutionary mood. You prepared them well. If you ask, I’m sure they would be willing to let go of the Quidditch matches.’

She laughed. ‘They would never. If only because I’d never propose it. Quidditch above all. Besides, we need something to argue about and bet on after the lessons.’ She still didn’t open her eyes. She focused on feelings—his heat and the way the mattress yielded under his weight, and the warmth of his laughter on her neck, tingling.

‘All right. So, they would agree to free all of the house elves.’

‘And who would cook then? You?’

‘Well, with all due respect, Headmistress, I think that the only thing your cooking would accomplish, would be the enormous rise of profits for Aberforth and Rosmerta. I, on the other hand, at least can cook soup without burning the pot...’

‘I haven’t burnt the pot in ages!’

‘And when was the last time you tried to make a soup?’ He put his hands on her shoulders and start massaging them. She almost purred, feeling her tense muscles beginning to relax slowly.

‘It’s very unfair way of winning arguments,’ she murmured, leaning into his touch, laying her head somewhere between his shoulder and collarbone. ‘But I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything else from the head of Slytherin House.’

‘Thank you for sparing me the need to say this cliché.’

For a while they sat in a silence, Horace’s fingers turning from the massage to combing through her hair, a little tangled after the day in a bun. He was very gentle, delicately teasing apart every knot, lock after lock. She could fell asleep like that, safe and caressed, and finally almost carefree—oh.

She opened her eyes. ‘I didn’t—‘

Horace let a half-sigh, half-laugh. ‘Shhh. I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait for tomorrow.’

Well, she meant to prepare her robes for cleaning. Also, all the notes from their meeting needed to be properly edited. And all these ideas ought to be checked, compared and put in a schedule, to see if there would be enough of hours in the week for all of them. And—and there would be always something, she realised. Horace was right: “something” could just as well wait for tomorrow. She smiled, relaxing a little more.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, turning her head so her mouth lay exactly on his neck. ‘For helping me earlier. With Binns and the others. I really expected much more protest. The House Tournament is a sacred tradition of the old days, controlled rivalry is healthy and helps to keep students in check, et cetera.’

‘Oh, it was a trifle, my dear. I’m proud to say that my sneaky Slytherin abilities haven’t got all rusty.’

‘You certainly know how to be very cunning,’ she caught herself. ‘I mean, convincing.’

‘Cunning? Convincing? Like some lowly manipulator? “Charismatic”, that’s the word you look for! “Charming”, I’ll take, too. But you, I see, are still a model Gryffin.’

‘You mean reckless, foolish and speaking too soon?’

‘I mean you wear your heart on your sleeve.’

She huffed, amused. ‘It’s the same thing. Just put in a _charismatic_ way.’

His hands came to her back. ‘Ah, but the way makes all the difference!’ Horace pulled her and they fell onto the bed, embracing each other. ‘Just like with spells and transmutation. As they say, wizard in a cat’s skin can still catch a mouse.’

‘And a witch changed into a chair can be still thrown into a fireplace,’ she murmured, while he was casting the spells, making the quilt settle down around them comfortably. ‘Which, of course, is purely a hypothetical example.’

Then, as she was slowly falling asleep, listening to their calm breaths and almost-yet-not-quite synchronised heartbeats, she was suddenly struck by the idea. She sat up.

‘We can make them—the students—organise festivals together! Every house will be forced to cooperate hand in hand with Slytherin at some point—and with others, too! If we make sure they’re going to be judged based on their common work, we might be able to force them to at least speak civilly with each other—’

Horace sighed and opened his eyes. ‘They’re going to murder each other. Unless—’ he added, a little less sleepily. ‘—we provide them with a common enemy.’

‘We most definitely will.’

‘I thought you were against founding our international relations on the enmity?’

‘Not enmity. Healthy, fair-play rivalry. Let’s put it the charismatic way.’ She summoned parchment and ink to the nightstand. ‘But I don’t mean foreign schools. I’ve been thinking about us, the teachers.’

He blinked. Then smiled. ‘Ah. Yes. We’re already their enemies, after all. And if we are to protect them... Yes, I’m sure they’ll gladly create an alliance just to outsmart us. Sometimes I think, Minerva, that your Gryffindor values are just a mask, cleverly hiding the snake’s teeth.’

‘Sometimes I think that you Slytherins are entangled in your ambitions and schemes so much that you miss the simplest of truths.’

‘For example...’

‘That somebody from another House could be as clever and intelligent as you are. Just in a different way.’ She blew him a quick kiss, already writing on the parchment.

He took her palm in his hand. She stopped.

‘I think another simple truth is that I have to say goodbye to the vision of us going to sleep at a normal hour. I’ll go draw us a proper bath, then.’ He kissed her hand, first the outside, then the inside of it. She almost blushed; from the sensation or the sudden shame of stopping Horace from getting well-deserved rest—she wasn’t sure.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.

‘Don’t be. I love this passion of yours much more than I love the soft mattress.’ He smiled, standing up. ‘I’ll fetch us some water and aroma oils. I think in our age we can finally indulge ourselves in a long, warm bath, not a cold, toughening shower. Be quick, my love!’ He turned to her. ‘Or else you’ll miss the bubbles. And I think I still have a few transmutation spells to surprise you up my sleeve!’


End file.
